


Hush

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Theme of suicide, angst<br/>Summary: Severus doesn't know why. He's not sure that Ron does either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Hush**  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
A foolish question: what else would he be doing standing on top of the Astronomy Tower, his toes hanging over the edge of the parapet?  
  
“Weasley, answer me.”  
  
The wind blows around us both and I hold my breath, wondering if the gust will carry his body off the top of the tower, like he clearly intends.  
  
“If you think I'm here to drag you back, to stop you from ruining your life, you're wrong.” I shrug, folding my arms over my chest.  
  
I don't know what dragged me to the top of the Astronomy Tower on this night, the first anniversary of the battle. The damn thing has only been re-built for three months. The stone is still new, not aged enough to cope with a suicide. There have been those before him, of course. Albus most recently, but he was at least dead before he hit the floor. Other students were talked down, others fell. This tower is fresh, however. This tower is too born from death to be treated to another.  
  
“It wouldn't ruin it,” he mutters, leaning forward slightly, peering over the edge at his fate below.  
“You think death would improve you?”  
“Uh-huh...” he breathes, eyes fixed on the ground.  
“Why chose this method of destruction? Why not lock yourself away in a room and take a poison which hurts only yourself?”  
“Thought a lot about this, have you?” he shoots at me, not tearing his eyes from the ground.  
  
I pause, cut by his sudden astuteness. I swallow and don't know how to answer him, but realise my silence already has. A soft laugh flutters over the wind.  
  
“Is anybody happy?” he asks me. “Is anybody at peace? We fought a war for peace, and I don't think anybody got it.”  
“Are you talking about peace, or happiness?” I barter, taking a step closer to him. “Because both are very different. I think the majority have achieved peace... but happiness... oh, I'd say that was another matter entirely.”  
“I don't have either,” he answers.  
  
It's hard to argue with that, because I have been there. I've felt what he feels.  
  
“Why don't you step down, and we can discuss this somewhere warm?” I suggest, against my better judgement.  
“You want to talk me out of it.”  
“I am your guardian whilst you reside in this school, I have a duty.”  
“I'm not a real student. You've got no duty to me. Godric knows you've done duty enough.”  
  
I don't have an answer for that, either. It's true. I have given this school my blood, sweat and, in private, my tears. Spit and sinew have gone into protecting these walls, into protecting Harry Potter. I know how it feels to be exhausted, to feel so tired that your bones simply won't work unless you force them. Every tired yawn of the boy on the wall now makes sense, every day of worsening pallor, every slip of his fingers on the Potions knife.  
  
He is exhausted, not suicidal.  
  
“No.” He shakes his head and seems to straighten up. He wears nothing but a thin t-shirt on his top half. His skin glows in the moonlight.  
  
I sigh and drop to sitting against the opposite tower wall, bending my knees up in front of me. It is rare that I ever deign to sit so casually in front of a student, but as he has pointed out, he is not an ordinary pupil. His head twitches back, looking for me.  
  
“Snape, what are you doing here?”  
“Perhaps the same, though I didn't realise there would be a queue.”  
“Why would you want to die? Your name's clear, you've got money, and prestige... everyone fucking loves you now.”  
“Except those that matter the most, Weasley. I think you understand that point explicitly?”  
  
He falls silent again, his cheek fading away. I see him shiver.  
  
“Please, come down.”  
“No.”  
“Jump then.”  
“I will, I'm just... looking at the view.”  
“Talking yourself into it,” I guess.  
“Seeing something I love for the last time,” he corrects me softly. “I've wanted to come here since I was old enough to know what school was.”  
“Odd, as you never seemed the type.”  
“Not for the learning... for the people... for the friends. Hopefully someone who thought I was worth more than my brothers.”  
“And did you find anyone?”  
“I thought I had.”  
  
His voice cracks with his sentence. Something in my wasted heart goes out to him, this long, bony boy standing, contemplating his own death, red hair shining under the moonlight.  
  
“We can get you the help you need,” I say. “If you just step down?”  
  
Nothing. No protest. No denial. Nothing from a man at the end of his rope, crying out in the most desperate of ways.  
  
I pull out my wand and point it silently at his back. It wavers slightly, either in the wind or with the shake of my own hand. I am no longer as steady as I once was -nearly dying and losing more than half of his blood whilst poisoned will do that to a man.  
  
I whisper the command and ropes spring from the tip, creeping silently towards him. They are vine-like; they curl around his ankles and creep up his shins. By the time he even realises what I am doing, they are tight around his thin thighs; if he falls now, he will hit his head on the edge of the castle and nothing more. Maybe the delirium of concussion will do him good.  
  
I am surprised to see the way he hands his wrists over. I bind them too and gently draw back my wand, pulling him from the parapet and onto safe stone. He stumbles, landing painfully on his side. I instinctively move to cradle his head, turning his face towards the moonlight. There I can see tear stains on his pale cheeks, carving through his freckles.  
  
The pain in his expression causes my throat to thicken.  
  
“I don't want to be saved,” he whispers. “Honestly.”  
“I know you don't.” I tilt my head to look into his eyes. “I know.”  
  
My fingers cup his cheek and hold him. I stroke with my thumb.  
  
“I have to take you to the hospital wing.”  
  
Fear widens his eyes; I feel like a monster.  
  
“Please don't?” he implores.  
  
Why am I still here? Why didn't I watch him jump or secure him and drag him off to the infirmary minutes ago? Why am I holding his face, offering comfort, like I have never offered comfort before?  
  
“I won't leave you.”  
  
Curse my softening constitution. Curse it to hell and back. I cannot leave him to die, nor can I commit him to what he is afraid of. Kneeling by him, I take him in my arms, and hold him, pulling him close to my chest.  
  
“Shh,” I murmur, as his sob floats up. “Hush.”  
  
 _-Fin-_


End file.
